


Underhill

by Bythia



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Frodo is Bilbo and Thorin's Child, Gen, M/M, Mostly Cannon Compliant, No one knows Frodos parents aren't Drogo and Primula
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22828783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bythia/pseuds/Bythia
Summary: When Bilbo came back to the Shire the biggest treasure he was carrying with him wasn’t his 14th part of Erebors gold. There is a lot more meaning in Frodos choice of name then anyone would ever know, when he calls himself Underhill in the Prancing Pony.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield (hinted)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 137





	Underhill

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Deutsch available: [Unterberg](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24254815) by [Bythia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bythia/pseuds/Bythia)



> Hello everyone,
> 
> I’m a writer for many many years now, but all the things I wrote until last week were in German, even while I was reading a lot more in English than in German the last few years. This little work is my first venture in writing anything in English and it was a lot easier and I had much more fun with it, than I anticipated. For me the story reads like decent English, but I will be happy if anybody hints at bad grammar or awkward use of words.
> 
> For an explanation, where this idea sprung from, see the notes at the end. I don’t want to spoiler. ;)
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters or anything of this world. I just borrowed them to play a little bit, and I don't make money with the stories I borrowed them for. But the words are mine, so please don't copy them to use them as your own.
> 
> Regards  
> Bythia

Bilbo sat in his favourite armchair and stared at the acorn in his hands, lost deeply in his thoughts. Many years had passed since that fateful day at the brink of war for Erebor. Thorin had been lost in goldsickness and Bilbo had been despaired about seeing the dwarf he so dearly loved in this desperate state. But then, there had been this tiny little moment, in which the fog in Thorin’s eyes had cleared. Bilbo had been so full of hope about seeing his friend and almost lover getting back to himself and all that just because of a little acorn. But then Dwalin had called for his king and the moment had been lost.

Thorin had never known what they had created in this little moment of companionship, understanding and love. Bilbo hadn’t known either until he was back in the shire and so overwrought with grief and guilt. He hadn’t remembered the acorn for month, while he was chasing for his belongings through all of the shire. It was almost a year after Thorin’s death, that Bilbo found the acorn in his pack and he remembered clearly the deep shock about seeing it quivering with so much life.

For Hobbits there were two ways to create a child. The first one needed a male and a female and the child would grow inside the female for almost a year before it was born. The second one could be conducted from any two Hobbits and they would create a seed with their devotion and love for one another and the new life. They would then plant this seed in their garden and it would take a lot of care to grow the sapling, in whose roots the child would grow. It could take from three up to five years for the child to leave the earth it was born from.

Bilbo hadn’t known that only one of the parents had to be a Hobbit, especially as neither he nor Thorin would have thought of a child in this situation or at all during their quest. For a long time, Bilbo had wondered how they could have created this seed, especially such a strong seed. It was no easy task to create an earthborn child, it was nothing you could just decide to do spontaneously.

But he would never get an answer to these questions and he had decided a long time ago not to dwell over the possibilities of this seed. He would never grow it – could never do it. Alone to look at it hurt so much, he couldn’t bear the thought to grow Thorin’s and his child alone. So Bilbo had build a little chest for the acorn, which had stood in a shelve in his bedroom for the last many years.

It had been a hard decision to take the acorn out of it’s chest this morning. And it was an even harder decision Bilbo was contemplating now. He could not imagine to raise this child but it was such a waste of life to not grow this seed. And then there were his cousin Drogo and his wife Priumula, who wished for a child, for just a single child, and weren’t granted this wish. Two times Primula had lost a child prematurely and one time during childbirth, leaving her womb barren. The grief over their lost children made it impossible to try for a seed and it could be years before they would find the strength to create an earthborn child.

And here Bilbo sat with a seed brimming with life he never intended to plant.

Bilbo had come to his decision and it had filled his heart with ease and love. But even days later he could not bring himself to tell Drogo and Primula about his seed. He would need to give up all rights as a father, but he knew there was no other way to give his child a chance to live. It was a harsh step to take nevertheless. Every day since Bilbo made his decision he would go to his cousins smial for lunch or dinner. And every day he promised himself to carry out his decision. And every day he failed to do it.

“You were very quite this last week, Bilbo. Are you alright?”, Drogo asked one day after they had cleaned the table and just a cake and some biscuits remained on the wooden plate between them.

Bilbo looked up at his cousin and took a deep breath. “I know how much you both wish for a child. And I would dearly like to help you.” Before Drogo or Primula could say anything, Bilbo took the acorn out of his breastpocked and laid it on the table.

Drogo stared at it and couldn’t seem to understand what he was seeing. But Primula gasped full of shock. “That’s a seed, Bilbo!”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smirk. “Yes, I know. I was part of creating it, you know.”

“Who is the other parent?”, Drogo asked.

“That isn’t … he is dead.” Under the table, Bilbo clasped his hands together to prevent their shaking to go through his whole body. “I could never plant this seed, could never raise this child. Not alone. It would be much to hurtful. But it is not fair to not plant it. And it is not fair that you were denied a child.”

“So you want us to take on your child as our own”, Primula said quietly.

“Yes.” Bilbo sighed. “I would very much love to give all three of you this chance.”

“I need to know, who the other father is.” Drogo hadn’t diverted his eyes from the acorn since Bilbo had put it on the table.

Bilbo hesitated for just a moment. “Thorin”, he finally answered. “He died just hours after…”

“That is one of your dwarfs.”

“Dwarrows”, Bilbo corrected without thought. “And yes. He is the only of the dwarrows I would have liked to properly call my own.” Instead he had buried him before they could have talked about what they were to one another.

“So this child will be half dwarf”, Drogo said sceptically.

Bilbo shook his head. “I don’t think so. A dwarf couldn’t be earthborn. I don’t think it will be overly visible what their second parent was.”

“Oh Bilbo.” Primula was shaking and tears were running down her cheeks. “Are you sure you want to do this? You would not only sacrifice your child for us, but a lot of time and care in the next few years. Without your presence this seed will never take in our garden!”

“I know.” Bilbo nodded and smiled reassuringly. “I’m not sacrificing anything, dear Primula. I’m gifting you the chance I never asked for. And I’m gifting my child the chance I would never be able to give them myself.”

“We…” Drogo cleared his throat and Bilbo could see the tears in his eyes he couldn’t shed as freely as his wife. “We are very thankful for what you are offering. But … we need to think about it. This is nothing we can just decide on a whim.”

Bilbo smiled. “I know.” He was endlessly relieved. He knew they would not say no and he would give them all the time in the world to come to this decision.

  
  


  
  


It was four very exiting and exhausting years that followed after that afternoon. For those four years Bilbo’s whole existence revolved around Drogo and Primula. Every day, Bilbo would spent most of his time in the garden of his cousin, caring for the slowly growing sapling and the child in its roots. It had to be the parents who created the seed taking care of it, otherwise the sapling would wither and die. Primula and Drogo were there every step of the way, caring for the sapling and caring for Bilbo, who was confronted with his grief over Thorin on a whole new scale.

The little boy decided to come out of the earth exactly on Bilbo’s 78th birthday, nearly twenty-seven years after Thorin’s death, and Bilbo took several steps back from caring for the child. He was an uncle to the little boy, who Primula and Drogo named Frodo, and it was all Bilbo could have wished for. It was the only right thing that could have happened, that Frodo had the chance to live and to laugh and to explore the world. And Bilbo had been right, there was nothing that showed his dwarrow parentage expect Thorin’s blue eyes, which broke Bilbo’s heart a little bit every time his nephew looked up at him.

When Frodo was twelve, tragedy befell their little family. Even years later Bilbo had no idea why Drogo and Primula should have taken this boatride, that took their lives. For a long time he was angry at them for their recklessness and their willingness to leave their child behind. And he couldn’t even work through this anger in any feasible way, because he had to fight for month to get custody of his nephew.

It was just a month after Bilbo had finally been able to take Frodo to Bag End and let him choose his new room, when one morning he found his nephew crying in his bed. Bilbo sat down on the edge of Frodo’s bed and patted his hair quietly cooing. “Oh Frodo! I miss them, too, you know. You don’t ever have to hide your grief or your tears from me!”

Frodo shifted and from a hole between pillow and blanked blue eyes searched for the older Hobbit. “I do miss them terribly. B-but that’s not … I d-don’t want to leave the smial today, Uncle Bilbo. Can’t we stay here? Today or maybe ever?”

“The boredom would be unbearable if we stayed here indefinitely. And we would be out of food within days as much as you eat”, Bilbo teased. “What’s the matter? What’s outside that’s making you cry?”

Frodo took a deep breath and averted his eyes. “Lotho”, he whispered.

“Lotho Sackville-Baggins? What has he done, my boy?” Bilbo frowned irritated. “I know he is a mean little rascal, and with that mother of his, that’s really no surprise for anyone. But I did not know you were spending any time with him.”

The blanked mountain shook, so Bilbo assumed Frodo was trembling in his hiding place. “He told me my parents choose to die. He said, they were ashamed of what they did to get me. And that I would never get the dirt of my birth out of my curls.”

Bilbo was still frowning and getting really angry at Lotho and his parents. “There is nothing shameful in being earthborn, Frodo.”

The little Hobbit sighed. “I know. The teachers say it takes a lot more devotion and love from the parents, then being flashborn. And the teachers say … It should have been years and years to create an earthborn child. So maybe Lotho is right when he says my parents somehow cheated.”

“Lotho tries to hurt you, because he and especially his parents are jealous. They thought my smial and everything else I own would have someday been theirs. With you living here its absolutely clear for everyone, that you are my heir and that you will get all the things they covet!”, Bilbo explained quietly.

“You can’t go!”, Frodo cried in panic, and threw back the blanked to grab for his uncle. “You are not allowed to leave me alone, too!”

Bilbo chucked. “I’m not going anywhere any time soon, dear child. I’m speaking of a time that’s still many decades ahead of us.”

He could just hope he wasn’t lying. With ninety years he was starting to get old for a Hobbit, even if he didn’t feel his years. He hoped with all his might, he could still be there for Frodo when he would celebrate his maturity. Wouldn’t that be a mighty festivity for Frodos 33rd and his own 111th birthday?

“Just because he wants to hurt me doesn’t mean he can’t be right”, muttered Frodo.

Bilbo sighed deeply. “I promise you, your parents did nothing unforgivable. They very dearly wished for a child and their wish was granted.”

“How would you know?”, Frodo asked sceptically.

“I was there every step of the way.” Bilbo laid down beside his nephew and gathered him in his arms. “You remember the stories about my quest and the dwarrows? And about Thorin?”

Frodo nodded. Bilbo couldn’t see it, but he could feel it against his chest. “What’s that to do with my parents?”

“Everything”, Bilbo answered solemnly. “When we were in Beorn’s garden I found an acorn. I carried it in my pocket all trough Mirkwood and over the Long Lake and into the Lonely Mountain. While Thorin was caught in his goldsickness there was one little moment he regained his senses. I don’t know how it happened, but in this moment, we made this acorn into a seed.”

Frodo grasped. “Me?”

“Later you would grow out of this seed, yes”, Bilbo confirmed. It was fascinating that Frodo wasn’t even questioning how this could be with a Hobbit and a dwarf. “But that was a lot of years later. First Thorin died and I came back to the shire. A long time I thought to never plant this seed. I didn’t want to raise this child alone, you know. And then your parents were so very desperate for a child and I had the possibility to help them. And it was the best possible choice I could have ever made.”

“I’m your son”, Frodo stated incredulous. “I’m yours and Thorin Oakenshild’s son.”

“No”, Bilbo contradicted. “You are the son of Drogo and Primula and my very dear nephew. You would have never been born as my son, not after Thorin was killed.”

“But …”

“Are Daisy’s parents any less her parents, because her original parents couldn’t be there for her?”, Bilbo asked.

Frodo sighed. “No.”

“So, Drogo and Primula will remain your parents the rest of your life”, Bilbo said. “Nothing will change that, just because they are no longer here with us or because it wasn’t them who created your seed.”

“You didn’t want to raise me alone but now you are raising me alone”, Frodo said pensive.

“So it seems. But these are two very different things, to raise you as my son on my own or to raise you as my nephew on my own. And … I could never have accomplished the planting of your seed on my own. Those years in the earth take a lot of energy out of the parents. Had I planted your seed alone, I doubt you would have ever come out of the earth.”

As a child Frodo had wanted to go on an adventure with his uncle – his original father, as he learned along the way. Bilbo’s stories of his quest and his friendship with the dwarrows had sounded so fantastical. A long time, Frodo used to dream about Bilbo’s journey, especially after he learned that Bilbo and Thorin were his original fathers.

As Frodo took the first steps of his own adventure, he wasn’t so sure any more, if it was such a grand idea. Not to know what was to come was terrifying. And while Uncle Bilbo hat freely decided to help Thorin’s company on their quest – even if he told everyone Gandalf was responsible for all of that – Frodo hat no other choice then to leave the shire. And even when the destination was Imladris as he took the first steps outside the shire, Frodo suspected that the Last Homely House would just be the first stop on a very long journey.

When the host of the Prancing Pony asked for his name, Frodo hesitated. He couldn’t very well tell him his real name, but he hadn’t thought about any alternative. And while he stared silently up at the man, he thought of Bilbo and Thorin, the father he had never the privilege to know and who had never known of his child. He surely could not call a mountain his own, but Bag End was a respectable hill. And so he replied in remembrance to his father the King under the Mountain and in his honour: “Underhill.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, as I said, I’m reading more English fanfiction than German at the moment. A few month back I had a “The Hobbit”-bing and was reading a lot of Bilbo/Thorin stories. Somewhere in this time I re watched The Lord of the Rings movies with my sister and we were watching it in German for her.  
> The German translation for “Underhill” is “Unterberg”, but the one to one translation of “Berg” would be “mountain”. (But so the name does have a better sound, as if they had choosen the one to one translation for “hill”.) So, there was Frodo calling himself “under mountain” and there were all the stories I read about Thorin, the king under the mountain. You see where my head started to do its own thing?


End file.
